GUILT FEST: The Report

Ever since some rich, racist, fox-hunting farmer got rid of his gypos, Pagans and shot the faces off burglars, 'Guilt Fest' has been the only festival that all the cool twats and ageing musos wold rape Asian molesters to be seen at. This years festival was no different. Hoards of Kanye West sunglasses-wearing bleach headed fools, Gaymers pissheads and the crusty dread-locked hippies you'd otherwise kick to death if you saw on the street with their whippets, were there, all competing with each other to see who'd have the most ridiculous 'Guilt Fest Moment'. And trust me if I hear one more loser say the festival is not about the bands performing but it's about stepping over dead hippies in mud to laugh at students on stilts handing out free beer, Keith Allen's karaoke, the George Foreman Heroine Machine, Heston Blumathal's Amphibian Grotto, then I will kill them where they stand. I'll also offer five new pounds to the first person who can strangle Edith Bowman or garrott Nick Grimshaw. My feet are still peeling. I went to 'Guilt Fest' and all I brought back was these lousy blisters. Sounds like an idea for a t-shirt.

THE KNIFEFISH STAGE

Jive Bunny

Mr Scruff

Greedy Jesus

Beagle 2's Musical Version of 'Let The Right One In' in the style of Jeff Wayne.

The Mark Austins

Brian Wilson

Sean Lennon

Alphabeat

This is where it almost ended. Jive Bunny refused to leave the stage until just after 4 a.m. Only the promise of a bacon barm and Michael Eavis's shotgun seemed to arouse the rocking rabbit to stir. Early on in the night the atmosphere at Guilt Fest was given a dollop of edge when rumours had started that George Michael had died. 'Really, no, not George Mi-,' John Challis had asked with incredulity. 'Yes!' But alas the rumour was false. Brian Wilson took to the stage and performed the Pet Sounds Variations, a version of Pet Sounds in the style of Lady GaGa. 'Fuck Mike Love!' he yelled to a screaming audience. 'Everyone say fuck Mike Love!' 'Fuck Mike Love' we all shouted. Warp's Mr Scruff played a confusing fusion of electronics and tortured animal testing soundtracks much to Beagle 2's annoyance in the wings, following his ambitious version of 'Let The Right One In'. 'Next year, I'll be performing a musical version of Antichrist' he told Nick Grimshaw, 'with Edith.' Then it was Jive Bunny, one of the most successful singles acts in the UK with the 'C-c-c mon everybody' refrain and the 'One-on-on-One-o' clock, two o 'clock...' (sigh) You know the rest.

THE FIRST AID TENT

The Fat Boys

Brian Wilson

Spastics Society

Les Smith

Concentration Camp

The Wonderful Comedy of Bobby Wilson (feat. Rudd Gullit)

Love Decade

Florence and the Machine

Highlights for me had to be The Fat Boys, lured out of semi-retirement with a bucket of tripe and some of the bored girls in the Fila tracksuits from the nearby council estate. 'Wipeout' and 'The Twist', merged effortlessly and complimented their lesser known gems such as 'Rumsfeld Raunch', 'Fanny Pack', and 'Martian Chronicles 2001'. Les Smith delivered a few bitter poems and an anti-war protest song about 'that woman who's under house arrest in Indonesia or somewhere like that...this is for her.' There wasn't a dry eye in the tent. Perhaps Les Smith was not the best choice to follow Bobby Wilson. His return after 11 years in the comedy wilderness was met reasonably well, despite his 40 minute rant about Peter Kay 'stealing my fucking audience of retards' and his bizarre accordion aria about ' Swine flu on the tube.' Where was the 'Nice one!' catchphrase and what happened to Rudd Gullit?

BRONSON BEAT TENT

The JoBoxers

The Revolving Heads

Brian Wilson

Soft Cell

The Toy Dolls

Kick the Pregnant

I Have To Be In Court Tomorrow

Didn't see any of this.

THE SIMON BATES MEMORIAL STAGE

Simon Bates

Curtis Stigers

Stefan Dennis

Franz Lambert

Brian Wilson

Franz Lambert brought the much needed dalliance and sophistication to the festival with his Yamaha versions of Warp classics, including the demonic 'Come To Daddy.' No festival would be complete without Stefan Dennis puncturing the emerging sunset with his feelgood singalong to 'Don't it make feel good?' 'I kinda like being here,' he said. 'It's like my CPD quota,' he bizarrely added. Brian Wilson gave a storming version of 'Sloop John B' whilst in tears and actually backstage. Simon Bates headlined the stage with his greatest Our Tunes stories including a moving one about a Mighty Boosh fan who meets a My Chemical Romance fan who leaves him for a Green Day fan who dies but gives birth to a Brian Wilson fan who gets a bad disease, HIV and leaves home to spend her remaining years with an abusive fan of Will Smith. Not nice. Terrible actually.

CLIQUE TENT

Kool and The Gang

Benny Andersson Band

Nine Inch Nails

Kanye West

Lady Gaga

Bobby Brown

Barry George

Quite an odd one this. During Benny Andersson Band's set, he was flashmobbed by Kanye West/Kool and The Gang fans, who in unison sang 'Don't want no bald headed woman, it makes me mean, makes me mean, males me mean!' Benny continued professionally throwing in a few nods to Kool and The Gang with a note for note sonic perfect version of 'Joanna' and NIN's 'Hurt' and 'Sin'. Then he finished the set with a triumphant performance of Joy Division's 'She's Lost Control'. For his part Barry George rendered his version of events of the Jill Dando murder to a sound bed of Air's 'The Virgin Suicides'. 'I was robbed,' he sniffed at the end. Hair- lip can make you sound like you're sniffing I guess.

CARELESS WHISPER CABARET TENT

Johnny Geddes

Bryan Ferry

Billy Corgan

Saint and Greavsie

In time people who study festivals and festival disasters will look upon this one to almost rival Roskilde. Not only are the Animal Cruelty League are looking into the mysterious deaths of snakes and rabbits but the NSPCC and the West Yorkshire Police are looking into why a girls hand was set on fire. Before you ask, all this happened during the last 15 minutes of Johnny Geddes conjuring and funster show. Things already weren't going well after the first 30 seconds when Geddes told the shocked audience 'You young punks wouldn't know a good snake act if it spat in your mouth.' Then it took his the next twenty minutes to twitter this messages on Fox Tavern's iPhone. I'm not sure what trick he was trying to perform when he set the poor girl's hand alight. (There were rumours that it was Jo Whiley's daughter) This was the exchange that took place.

JG: I'd like a guest. A girl. A young, fair, pretty maiden of about ten years of age. You can get them for nowt in your local school. Don't be shy. You'll do, me dear.

(JG just grabs a girl from the side of the stage) What's your name, me little angel dust? What? Can't hear you? What? Can't hear you? What? Oh hang on, I got cloth in me ears. (JG unravels some cloth out of his ears) What's your name? What? Now then, hold out your hand. (Gives it a kiss) Very charmed. The name of this trick is 'Hand Over Matter'. If you put your mind to it you can achieve anything. You've heard all that mumbo jumbo about walking on hot ash, well you dearest child, will be able to withstand your hand in flames. Now...no, no, don't weep... I'm going to add a bit of magic dust over your delicate hand, me child of the night and wave me magic wand...and before you know it...oh shit...'

(The girls hand is on fire. She screams and is rushed by three members of St John's Ambulance. In the confusion Johnny Geddes rabbits escape and jump into the crowd)

BRANDON FLOWERS FUNHOUSE STAGE

Erasure

La Roux

Blandon Frowels (Chinese Tribute Act)

DJ Tiesto

Karen O with Steve Bruce

Brian Wilson

All the confetti, balloons and fun was to be had upon this stage, if you discount La Roux not taking to the stage at all 'Until someone, takes me and my music seriously.' Karen O and Steve Bruce seemed an unlikely pairing but with Bruce declaration that 'heads will roll!' he stole a few hearts and not just from the chavs that evening. DJ Tiesto was as you'd expect, dance music for the Jeremy Kyle generation if the Jeremy Kyle generation had jobs and Kenco. Erasure were due to do a duet with Robert Powell but had to make do with Andy Bell from Five News. Meanwhile the real Andy Bell inexplicably branded the Pet Shop Boys who recently picked up a Brit for Outstanding Achievement in Pop Music, as 'Nazi shitheads.' Charming.

All in all a fierce and challenging round up of events but unlike incest I don't think I'd be doing this again too soon.

Goodwill to All Men

Goodwill is an odd term. It's something we're supposed to have for all men and dogs. Around Christmas Dickensian people wander around muttering 'goodwill' to each other, whilst beating the cold out of their chests with their fists. They even make mediocre people 'goodwill ambassadors' these days. Their duties involve giving poorly written speeches saying how nice we should be to each other before they go back to their hotel rooms to score some coke and cock.

So what is goodwill? For me it should involve a warm glow, a happy, clueless, Ian Broudie-esque smug mood that you have when you're on holiday or in love. It's that warm anticipation in your body when you're attending some amazing event such as a Kylie Minogue concert or a Jimmy Carr burial. It's a big chorus of an ELO record, the theme to Starman but there are people, evil souls out there who want to ruin this goodwill for the rest of us. These blood sucking fuckers will use your goodwill to make you guilty, to extort money from you and drain the frivolous five minutes of love from your heart. It'll leave you slumped on the pavement wonderign where all your money and goodwill went. Here's some soul destroying examples:

Concerts.
You will be charged gob smacking prices for programmes and crappy merchandise, weak, cheap, warm beer by the venue. Yes, they have to make a living. I can accept that. No, they don't have to take the piss. This will have you reeling long after the thugs outside, the bootleggers and touts aggressively scream at you to give them money. One guy at a concert I went to years ago was cold heartedly selling those crappy luminous glow sticks. I've still no idea what the point of them are, no more than the shit toys street sellers try and push to the kids. Even though this guy had sold his last one he thrust his hand open under my nose and demanded 'Gimme some change, man!' Of course you'd well be within your rights to knife the Mos Side faced bastard in the throat in any other time for attempting to mug you, but no, not tonight, not when you have goodwill. Enough arseholes will be quite happy to pay through the nose for pieces of crap, the same hateful bastards who pay £5 on a cheap flight for beer or £4 for a bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate when the flight only actually lasts TWO FUCKING HOURS and they have already scoffed something at the airport ON TOP of breakfast.

Holiday.
Mother fucking opportunities everywhere to lick out the tourists and sell them what? Answer me this. Who the fuck in 2009, in this dimension, on this earth wants stupid fucking plastic knick-knacks, cheapo watches, bracelets, poor sun hats, poor Poundstretcher rip offs? Just leave us alone. I understand you have a living to make but don't try and make it with me. Don't. Please. Or next time I'll kick the shit out of you.

Rose sellers.
They despise us. They want a piece of your infatuation. They really couldn't give a shit if you've doped her. They want what's in your pocket. They will never stop till they get your cash. Behind their strained, tight smile, they are wishing death on you. Just ask when you see them 'Are you happy for us? Are you happy?' Tell them that you don't want a rose because you are with your sister or brother. They will get embarrassed. Good. Just look at their face. They hate you. They hate us. All of us.

Big Issue sellers.
Not all of them want to ruin our day and even if they did can you blame some of them, seeing wankers passing them, ignoring them, talking into phones, throwing half eaten sandwiches, breathing, having cosy homes to go to, the bastards? If you don't buy a magazine, even if there's nothing decent worth reading in it, if you dare not give them anything at all, you are scum. You are loathsome and worthless because you didn't have the bad fortune to keep it together, get addicted to drugs, have a nervous breakdown or through no fault of your own, end up on the streets. You callous bastards with your shopping bags and Police sunglasses.